Vim
by DellaDay
Summary: Mary has a late-night talk with her grandmother. Not that one, the other grandmother ...


Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this story.

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Who could be knocking at her bedroom door at this hour? Mary scrambled out of bed and opened her door just as it was given another sharp rap. Facing her was a tiny but redoubtable elderly woman, wearing a Chinese-style dressing-gown in stiff brocade and carrying a walking-stick in one hand and a capacious handbag in the other.

"Grandmamma! Are you all right? Are you ill?"

"I'm never ill," her grandmother snapped. "I can't sleep. I thought of a few things to say to you so I figured I might as well do it now."

"But Grandmamma, it's one o'clock in the morning. Perhaps your maid can get you some hot milk?"

"It may be one o'clock here but it's tomorrow afternoon in New York. Or yesterday afternoon. One of the two. At my age I don't sleep anyway. I get my best ideas at this hour."

Mrs. Levinson sat down by the fireside as Mary hastily lit a lamp. Her grandmother tapped her walking stick imperiously. She didn't seem to need the stick but no-one had seen her without it or without the handbag that she placed on the floor beside her.

"Sit, sit, sit," she ordered. She leaned forward and fixed Mary with her sharp eyes. "Well. I've finally met your young man. I can't say I'm impressed."

"But Grandmamma ..."

"Is that the best that Cora and the old trout could do for you? A _lawyer_." She spit out the word with disgust.

"But Grandmamma, he's very clever..."

"Why, New York is crawling with lawyers. They're a dime a dozen. We have more lawyers than rats. Not that they aren't the same species." She sat back. "You'll never win an argument with him, you'll see. Lawyers are known for their fancy manoeuvring."

"But Grandmamma ..."

"And you won't have a cent to spend until your father kicks the bucket. Why wasn't I consulted sooner? I could have lined up half a dozen millionaires for you by now. I have Henry Burden Rice sitting on ice for you. He's loaded and he'll only throw it away on chorus girls if you don't take him in hand."

"But Grandmamma, I'm getting married in two weeks."

"Nonsense. Come back to New York with me. You'll set the town on fire."

"New York sounds wonderful but ..."

"What happened to that newspaperman? I like newspapermen, they have vim. I don't think your young man has enough vim."

"Well, he owned newspapers, he wasn't actually ... And anyway, Matthew does have vim." Whatever vim was.

"I suppose Cora and Her Royal Uppityness put the kibosh on that. Cora told me all about that Turkish fellow. You should have come to me then instead of hanging around here until you settled for this ... lawyer."

"But Grandmamma, I love him."

"Love! Fiddlesticks. Where do young people get these notions? Your mother made a good marriage first. Love comes later and it's not necessary anyway."

She got to her feet, leaning on her stick. "Well, I did my best. My offer still stands, mind you. Think about it. You may wish you 'd taken me up on it while you're trying to dodge that bossy mother-in-law of yours."

Mary bent to pick up her grandmother's handbag. A small hard object in it bumped against her.

"Umm ... Grandmamma?" Could it be a snuffbox? Or some of the silver? The best families - even, it was rumoured, the royal family - were known to have the occasional member who couldn't resist picking up trifles here and there. Was Grandmamma a kleptomaniac?

But Mrs. Levinson solved the mystery by proudly producing a small pistol from the depths of the bag. It was less than 6 inches long,

"It's a derringer," she said, "Had it since I was a girl. Your great-grandfather gave it to me. Every girl should have one. I used to tuck it into my muff."

"Grandmamma, do you mean to say that you brought it all this way..."

"You don't think I was going to sail on a boat full of strangers and travel all the way up to Yorkshire without protection?"

"But ... now you're among family."

"You never know. Some of your people downstairs look pretty shifty to me. That maid of Cora's looks like an axe murderer."

Her grandmother turned on her way to the door. "Isn't your young man staying here overnight? I should have a talk with him. What room is he in?"

"Oh, Grandmamma, please ..."

"Oh very well." Mrs. Levinson finally departed.

Mary sat down on the side of her bed. Talking to Grandmamma could be quite exhausting even if you didn't get to do much talking yourself.

A hand snaked out from under the bed and grabbed her ankle. She let out a startled _eep_ and looked down. Her fiance looked up at her from the floor where he was lying, half-way out from under the bed.

"Your Grandmamma doesn't seem to think much of me," he observed.

Mary sighed and got back onto the bed, leaving room for her fiance to climb up beside her. He leaned on one elbow looking down at her. He was wearing nothing but a sheet, sarong style.

"I can't believe you got under the bed so quickly."

Matthew looked smug. "I'm well-known for my fancy manoeuvring."

"Darling, you should go back to your room."

"How can I leave now, with Mrs. Levinson patrolling the halls? She has a gun!"

"Oh honestly." Mary felt defensive. Of course her grandmother was a bit ... eccentric but Matthew needn't enjoy this _quite_ so much. "What's so odd about that? You have a pistol yourself." This started him off again.

"Do you think Grandmamma and I should have a shootout?" Matthew was laughing so hard she was afraid that she'd hear her grandmother's knock again.

"Shhhh!"

Matthew kicked free of the sheet and pulled it up over both of them. He ran his fingers lightly down her arm and whispered "You don't want me to go just yet, do you?"

"Well ..." She seemed to be losing every argument tonight, as her protests died away in kisses and whispers.

She had to disagree with Grandmamma on one thing. Whatever vim was, Matthew had plenty of it.


End file.
